


Bittersweet Tragedy

by raggedymanandtheponds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kidnapping, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 11:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2427062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raggedymanandtheponds/pseuds/raggedymanandtheponds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were a child when the demons had found you and made you into the perfect killing machine. But this isn't the story of that girl, but the recovering of the monster they had tried to make out of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You were a child when they found you. You had been hiding in your closet, as your mother told you to, when you heard their footsteps approaching. You tried to stay quiet, but it had just been so hard for you not to cry out after hearing your mother scream so loudly, then just so much silence.

They had opened your closet door and found you there, huddled in the corner with your knees pressed to your chest, tears streaming down your face  
At first, they had seemed so terrible. They had dragged you out of your hiding spot by your wrist, not caring that you whimpered from the rough force they were showing you. But as time went by, they had become a strange sort of family to you. They had preached their beliefs to you, and being so young, it had all seemed to make sense to you.

Yeah, you had heard stories of how evil they were, but these demons were the only family left after your mother had been killed.

“Humans are bad,” the leader of the group had said, stroking your cheek gently. “They like to make each other believe that we are the bad ones, but at least we don’t try so hard to hide our wicked ways. We are honest and if you ask me, that’s better than pretending.”

You nod in agreement, along with all the other girls and boys just like you. All so young and easy to manipulate; to watch you all slowly become their minions had brought them such a sick sense of pleasure. 

So as the years went by, you were taught how to be just like them. You were to kill and torture, for pleasure, even though you never truly felt it like they wanted you to, but they never lost hope in you. 

“Soon enough, y/n, you’ll feel it. The feeling of taking someone else’s life is as good as it gets.”

And you believe them, and continued to kill, trying so hard to find what they said you were meant to feel. Yet, all you felt was a growing hole in your chest where joy used to be stored. So much pain and screams that echoed throughout your brain when you tried to find peace in slumber. It wasn’t supposed to be this way, you thought to yourself, I’m supposed to like this, why can’t I be like everyone else.

One day, while your family watched, you were to kill a mother in front of her child. You masked your disgust, for you were meant to enjoy their sorrow and pain. 

You’re leader insisted that you skin the mother, for she had such beautiful skin and it’d be a shame for it to be torn.

You agree meekly, about to raise your knife to the mother, when two men crashed into your home with their knives raised high. 

“Ah, Winchesters,” your leader said, nodding you off. 

You were to leave, and deep down, you praised Lucifer for the two men crashing in.

As you walked away, and hear such loud punches and screams, then silence, echoing louder than any scream or cry you had ever heard.

“Thank you so much,” the mother whimpered, breaking the quiet. “But you forgot that one! She was going to skin me; you have….you have to kill her.”

“Ma’am, she isn’t like the others, she’s a victim. Y/n, you’re safe now.”

You turn around and see the massacre left in the two men's wake. Bodies were everywhere, blood and guts, staining the once beautiful hardwood floor of your home. You fall to your knees and begin to weep. This couldn’t be happening, they were all you had, and now they were all gone, nothing more than lifeless bodies and blood stains. You just look at all of their faces, and all their lessons and words begin echoing around in your mind.

Humans are bad, kill them, and don’t ever think twice.

You reach for the fallen carving knife and lunge for the man with the long brown hair and hazel eyes. He easily disarms you and you just go weak in his grasp, not caring if you look weak or if he kills you like the rest of your family. You feel yourself going dizzy, the smell of their blood just becoming too much, and you welcome the darkness that suddenly takes over. 

You were alone now; truly alone. 

When you wake up, you are in a small plain room, with no windows and only a single lamp that let you observe your surroundings. You remember your lessons and take everything in. You look down and see you’re in a bed, which means your captives want you to have comfort, which most likely means they wish for you to remain alive and well. They won’t hurt you, so you have an advantage, because you don’t have a problem hurting them.

Desk near the door, pens, those could be used as weapons. 

You get out of bed quietly, tiptoeing to the desk, ready for anything. You grab one of the pens and open the door easily. Stupid, they should have locked that, you think, looking down the corridor, and when you see that it’s clear, you continue. They’ll pay for killing the ones I love, you think, going into the room that looked like a library. You see they are both their, backs turned to you, talking, completely oblivious. 

“Can you believe they killed her family, and raised her to kill like that? Son of bitches made her their own personal entertainment,” the one with the shorter hair says, shaking his head. “She doesn’t even realize they did anything wrong.” 

The one with the long hair nods, saying, “She has a pretty bad case of Stockholm syndrome, Dean. We should keep her in the bunker for a while, so she can recover from everything. She though those people were her family and we just killed them all.”

You continue creeping toward them when the short haired one says, “She was just a kid, Sammy. Her mom tried so hard to save her, and it was all for nothing.”

You see her in your mind, so loving and caring, telling you to hide in your closet. How had you come to be this, to be just like the ones that killed her?   
Humans are bad, kill them, and don’t think ever think twice.

But I’m human, you think, feeling the blood of all the ones you killed running down your hands.

“I want to be better,” You whisper, dropping the pen. “I killed so many…they said I was supposed to like it…but I never did. I’m not normal! You both killed my family, and liked it. Why can’t I ever feel joy?”

They both turn around, sadness etched into their eyes. 

“Sweetheart, they weren’t your family,” one whispered, reaching for your hand.

You jerk your hand away and shake your head. “They were my family. They raised me and saved me.”

“They killed your family and brainwashed you into a killing machine. They never cared about you, you were just something to pass the time,” the long-haired one whispered, looking up at you with such big hazel eyes that were filled with so much sadness you couldn’t help but trust him.

You sit down on one of the many chairs in the library and tears begin to cloud your vision. 

“They made me kill so many people,” You mumble. “I see their faces whenever I try to sleep. Can you help me?”

They both nod solemnly at your words, and it brings warmth that had been vacant from you for so many years. They give you their names after that, and they tell you all about the people that had held you captive for so many years. Apparently, they had been doing this to children for centuries, finding the youngest kids in the towns they occupied and raising them into monsters. It had worked for the majority of the kids, so well in fact that they would go off on their own and go on a killing spree, thinking it was the only way they could feel happiness. Most of them would get caught and taken to prison, others would simply off themselves. 

You had been the only one to remain loyal to the demons and not go off on your own. They had seen you as a great treasure and had been planning on selling you to the King of Hell, but little had they known the King of Hell was ‘best friends’ with Dean, and had told him of you and your whereabouts.

“Crowley may be a sick bastard most of the time, but even he thought what they did was a little fucked up,” Dean said, smiling up at you sympathetically. “But you’re safe now, and you’ll never have to kill anyone ever again.”

You nod, taking it all in. 

“How old am I?” you ask, tilting your head at the brothers. “They never really told us what day it was, or when holidays happened, but I saw so many winters and summers go by. It must have been decades.”

Sam takes your hand, and when you stiffen up, he lets it go with a sigh. You don’t know why every time they touch you, even with when they show you nothing but gentleness and care, it makes your skin crawl and all you want to do is curl into a ball and hide away. What had happened to you…?

“You’re twenty-two, y/n,” Sam says, running his fingers through his hair. “You were five when they took you, so it’s been a while.”

You simply stare ahead, not really wanting to believe it. So many years had been taken away from you, so many memories you could have had, replaced with false people and hopes. Everything had been a lie, and now that it was finally safe for you in a place that wouldn’t force you to kill, you felt nothing but sorrow and confusion.

“No one looked for me?” you asked, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible.

Dean shakes his head, “Everyone thought you had been killed. Such as small town, they didn’t know any better.” 

You nod. 

Blink.

And repeat.

For what feels like hours before Dean and Sam ask you if you’re okay.

“Of course I’m fine,” You reply, continuing your cycle before saying. “I think I’m going to go lay down.”

You walk away without looking back. It feels as if there is a large weight on your chest, but you ignore it, like you always did. You feel the tears begin to fall, but you act as if you can’t feel the moisture upon your cheeks. It feels like your heart is truly breaking, into pieces within your body. It’s such a large amount of pain, but you were taught to never show weakness. 

You lay down upon the bed the brother’s had given you, and feel nothing but agony, before sleep wraps its claws around your brain. You don’t dream that night, and when you wake the spell of pancakes welcome you.

You follow the scent to what must be the kitchen to find Dean Winchester cooking.

“Hey there, sleepy head, I decided I’d make you a proper breakfast. God knows when you last had a meal as good as my cooking,” he laughs, setting the plant down. 

You take a seat quickly and devour the meal. Back home, you never knew when a meal would come, or who would try and take it away from you. So you always had to eat quickly. Dean doesn’t say anything about it, simply adds more to your plate, and you want to thank him for everything, but you don’t want to seem weak, so you say nothing. 

After that, you and the brothers had created a certain rotation. You’d be awaken by the smell of breakfast, you’d eat until you’re stomach ached, and then Dean would suggest a movie, and you’d always agree, not wanting to be a burden upon him. He’d talk through the film, explain references he didn’t think you’d understand, point out his favorite parts, and just laugh so loudly when he found something funny. 

You had grown to love his laugh. 

After the movie, Sam would come in and ask if you needed anything. He was so sweet to you, with eyes so gentle and compassionate, you’d always say what you needed, not caring if you came across as needy, because he’d never judge you. He’d always get want you needed, and you had learned there was nothing wrong with being thankful and showing weakness around the two every now and then, because they’d never make you feel like you were lesser. 

One day, while you and Dean watched a movie, he had wrapped his arm around your shoulder, and you didn’t shy away. You cuddled into his chest and inhaled his scent, feeling warmth spread around your chest. 

“Dean, you make me feel warm,” You whisper, looking up into his beautiful green eyes.

He laughs and runs a hand through your hair, eyes so tender you actually felt safe. 

You reach up for his face, when the visions became to come rushing into your mind. 

Hands were gripping your hips, blood covering your inner thighs, and tears running down your cheeks; so much pain. 

“No, please!” You scream, pushing Dean away, but to you it wasn’t Dean, but the man that had made you hurt so sadly. “I’ll do anything, just please don’t, please stop!”

“Y/n, snap out of it!” He screams, grabbing your shoulders.

You whimper as he holds you, going limp. You close your eyes and try to ignore the visions, but they were just so vivid. It was as if you could feel the blood running down your thighs and onto the mattress beneath you, as if he was still pounding into you so roughly.

You cry out and grab onto your head. 

The visions aren’t real, you tell yourself. I’m safe now, with Sam and Dean.

“Y/n, please look at me,” you hear Dean whisper. 

When you open your eyes, you see his face so close to yours, and you feel so bad for making him look so worried and sad.

“It wasn’t real,” You say, mainly to reassure yourself. “I’m safe, here with you.” 

He smiles softly, “I won’t let anyone hurt you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Screams filled the small room of tortures, bodies hanging lifelessy on each wall as they bled out. Some never responded to the knife's kiss, just let the warm red liquid run from their wounds easily.

The room changes, and suddenly, you're drowning in their blood, crying out, but all that does is fill your lungs with so much of your victim's blood. You can taste them, feel them, as you fall beneath the surface. 

“Y/n!"

You bolt upward so fast your head feels fuzzy, but you're away from the sea of blood. Dean is in front of you, wide eyes and in nothing but sweatpants. You must have woken him up.

He lays you back down and places your head upon his lap. You are trembling and he just wants you to calm down, remembering the terrible dreams that had once haunted him after his time in hell. 

Dean runs his long fingers through your hair, petting you gently without a word, waiting for your breathing to calm down. You look into his eyes, so happy he took you away from that awful place.

“So much blood," you whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I did it. I killed all of them."

Dean grabs your chin and makes you meet his soft green eyes. Months ago this would have made you shy away, but never with Dean.

“It's not your fault, y/n. They made you do it."

You shake your head and cling to him. You just want to get better. To leave all those bad memories behind and feel good. Dean's presence helps a bit; the feeling of his warmth making you feel like you were in the best of shelters.

You push him down beside you and curl up into his side. He doesn't say a thing, just runs his fingertips through your hair until you fall back asleep. No bad dreams plague you for the rest of the night, for you can't safe in his arms, where no one would be able to haunt you with the past.

When morning can't, Dean was still beside you. 

You smile and watch him as he sleeps. He was so beautiful like this. So peaceful and no worries aging his face. He had freckles that dotted his high cheekbones, his face gentle and vacant of any sadness. He was perfect in every way to you. You don't know what you did to deserve a man like him, but if what happened to you led to an ending with Dean, you wouldn't change a thing that had happened to you.

You remember a saying your mother use to say whenever you felt sad or if something bad had happened to you.

“All things happen for a reason, y/n," she'd say. “And it may seem like this will only get worse, but there is always a light at the end of the tunnel."

Perhaps Dean Winchester would be your light.

“Stop starting at me," he grumbles, turning into his side.

You laugh, a true laugh for once, and his eyes open, and he returns your wide smile with one of his own.

“You have a beautiful laugh, y/n," he says to you, bring a warmth to your chest, that only grows whenever you're around him.


End file.
